First of all, I want to join the long line of food writers who have have felt compelled to post beautiful tributes to Julie Powell, who died, possibly of Covid complications, at the ridiculously young age of 49. In case you don't know her, Julie was the one who started blogging in 2002 about her year of cooking from Julia Child's path breaking book -- Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Eventually Nora Ephron made a movie about this and Julie went from being a city clerk in New York to being very well known, certainly among those (like me!) who read quite a bit of internet stuff on cooking and love movies about kitchen troubles!
Bruni in the NYTimes writes that Julie changed the world of food writing. I'd like to think she did even more than that. Her blogging began at a time when blogging was thought to be really weird. Heck, I started a year and a half later (in January 2004) and it was still regarded as really weird. You had to really have the strength of conviction, the I don't-care-what-you-think-of-me attitude to go on. I remember those years. My daughters stood by me. My American friends did too. And of course Ed. Others? Opinions varied and I heard them all.
I'm sure this was the case for Julie as well and as she continued to write after her initial success with Julie/Julia, she stuck with her own vision of what deserved to be published and read by many. She never adorned her writing or vulgarized it to gain a readership. As a person who has been writing Ocean posts daily, I know all the temptations out there. And so I completely admire those who resist them and write from the heart. Julie wrote from the heart.
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We have before us one last day of late August weather. Stunningly beautiful, if you can ignore the oddity of hitting 72F (beyond 22C) here in Wisconsin on November 3rd.
As I tidy up the farmhouse, I look out at the rising sun and the brilliant colors on the crab outside our bathroom window. We have always thought that this is the best view in the house!
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Since I've been back from my most recent trip, I have been tempted every single morning to drive the twelve minutes to the bakery for breakfast croissants. I've resisted. I need to adjust to being back. To eating oatmeal. To this, to that. Today I ran out of excuses and I happily drove to pick up three croissants. I thought they'd last for three mornings (they reheat well in the oven!), but I ate one today and Snowdrop devoured the second.
The plan for breakfast was to eat a leisurely meal, with my kindle at the side. Instead, I eat with Dance at the side.
In the meantime, my regular breakfast companion is still out at sea. To me, he seems once again to have slowed down and is making weird (from my reading of the maps) twists and zigzags. I can only guess they're trying to pick up better winds. Watching the charts reminds me a little of watching an update load on your computer: the end is in sight, but it seems like the last stretch takes way longer than the first 75%.
From the navigation maps, I can tell that he is now closer to the island than to the US mainland. Which of course doesn't tell you much except that if he wants to get to shore quickly, well, he's got to keep heading south.
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I do still have farmette tasks to do. The fallen leaves need to be mowed for mulch and the flower fields need to be trimmed for winter. Too, I have some seeds to sow in the meadows. I'm not sure if this is the best time to sow perennial flower seeds, but I know that it is one possible time and so I take advantage of the chickens enjoying an hour digging in the newly updated compost pile and go out to the meadows to do my work there
Despite the beautiful weather, I almost do not go out for a walk. There's just so much to do! But in the end I tell myself that if I stop now, I will not resume the rigor of daily brisk sprints. So I walk. In the new development. I know, right?
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As usual when I pick up Snowdrop after school, I ask her about the highlights of her day. She always loves her recesses (this is when she connects with her best friend who happens to have landed in a different class) and today is no different.
But I liked the second recess better than the first.
What happened during the first?
Oh, three boys were chasing us on the playground.
What do they do when they catch you?
They don't catch us.
You're faster?
No, boys are faster, gaga. But girls are smarter.
I feel I ought to defend smart boys so I suggest that perhaps there are smart ones on either side of the gender divide. She considers this. Not in my class.
Fair enough. I do not know the players here so I best say no more!
At the farmette, she plays a little...
... but most of our time is spent reading. She has a bit of a cold and I sense that anything low key is best for her.
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Evening. I'm late coming home to put away the chickens. The cats are meowing their heads off, feeling themselves to be neglected far too long. Relax, all of you! I'm here!
I reheat Sunday's dinner once again. Tomorrow I'll reheat the soup. I'd forgotten how cooking for one means that there will be leftovers. Lots of them. I offer no protest.
With love...
